


Leave a Message After the Beep

by Random_Writes_Stuff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angsty maybe...?, Gen, Kinda depressing, Slight mentions of suicidal tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/Random_Writes_Stuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The skies were grey for the longest of times in John’s eyes.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Post-Reichenbach ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave a Message After the Beep

The skies were grey for the longest of times in John’s eyes.

Every day was just a blur of emptiness, nothingness…

They resemble the time when he had only just came back from Afghanisthan. Only now there was no wonderful madman to save him.

His limp came back. Sometimes, he thinks that it truly never went away, only forgotten because he was always distracted by that one brilliant man.

The press at least had the mercy to leave him alone. Maybe they had realised that writing about the blogger just wasn’t as fun without the detective by his side. Or maybe Mycroft had finally found a way to control whatever was printed on paper.

He still doesn’t think that he can ever forgive him.

John was getting better at coming to terms with Sh— _his_ death. (Maybe not, since he still can’t bring himself to say _his_ name even in his mind.)

He had managed to lessen his visits to the grave from every single day to once a week to once or twice a month. 

Now, he only went there when he really couldn’t stand the grey skies and the faceless crowds anymore. Sometimes, he went there with cold metal pressed against his lower back.

He’s faced days where someone would say that _he_ was a fraud straight to his face. He’s faced people who wouldn’t leave him alone telling him that he’s a victim _‘You’re the biggest victim aside from poor little helpless Brooke. Can’t you see? He’s LIED to you! He’s USED you! You poor creature, just open your eyes you’ll see all the wrong he’s done.’_ He’ll never forgive anyone for even thinking that it was okay to utter those words in front of him. 

But on those days, he’s strongest. He’ll visit the grave to affirm his loyalty to the Detective. He’ll do what he can to clear _his_ sullied name.

The sudden appearances of proof that Moriarty and his network exist helps too.

But it’s days when everything is too bright, when someone would look at him, actually look at him, and smile with sympathy in their eyes and say the words “I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”, when one of the envelopes he receives in the mail contain a card sending condolences and a story of how _he_ saved their life or helped them with a problem no one can solve, it’s on those days that he is unable to console himself with memories of the Detective alone.

He will admit to no one how he would slip on a nightgown with sleeves which are way too long or wind around his neck a scarf that they’ll know by sight before curling up in a bed that was not his and calling a number that by right should no longer exist. 

He’d hold the phone to his ear, ignoring the sound of ringing somewhere in the flat until it stops along with the dial tone only for a deep, familiar voice to sound. 

“Obviously, you have reached the number of Sherlock Holmes. You should already have figured out that I was too busy with my experiments to pick up the phone or I’m preoccupied with a case that is far more interesting than you. Either way, it was foolish of you to think that I might pick up the phone for whatever it is you want instead of calling John. He would no doubt spare whatever time he has to listen to your inane rambling and give me the gist of it later on. Anyway, he checks the voice mail too. So if you think your problem is important enough to be worthy of my attention, please leave a message after the beep.” *BEEP*

If he were in a better mood, he’d laugh at how annoyed _his_ voice sounds. But most of the time, he would bury his face in the pillows to muffle his sobs. He knows he says things after the beep sounds, but when he wakes to check the machine it’s always gone.

He’ll always shrug it off and proceed to get ready for the day. His step was always lighter on the days after.

—-

_‘I miss you…’_

Sherlock Holmes sat slumped in the uncomfortable chair in front of his temporary cheap but usable laptop. He was in a safehouse somewhere in Brussels, only just done taking down a local online gambling ring. 

It was quite a big operation that involved a few big players in the European economy, but he had managed to reveal every single one of them. He was even able to expose more of Moriarty’s network as well.

He was listening to the messages he was able to get from the phone when he felt his new disposable handphone vibrate.

_You are lucky that he is too busy grieving to notice._

MH

He was too tired to even let out a frutrated sigh as he typed out his response with buttons which were a little too small.

_How’s he doing?_

SH

He didn’t have to wait too long for the reply.

_Better. Next time leave one or two on the machine. He’s growing suspicious. Don’t take his intelligence for granted._

MH

He squints at the small glowing screen, a comeback already at his fingertips.

_‘I love you…’_

Sherlock looked up from his phone. It wasn’t the first time he heard those words tumble from John’s lips.

He sat up straighter, fatigue no longer visibly clinging onto his frame. His next job was in Berlin then after that he’ll have to jump to Naples. Then it’ll be Bordeaux, after that… 

He’ll be back in London. He’ll be back with John once again by his side. It won’t be long now.

He shut the laptop and shoved it in his bag. He has a plane to catch.

_I know._

SH

**Author's Note:**

> The love John was actually using is Agape, Unconditional Love, so this can be seen as pretty platonic.


End file.
